


Don't know what love is

by amitye



Category: Natasha Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812 - Malloy
Genre: (too much of both), Angst, F/F, F/M, Introspection, Polyamory, helene's opinions of pierre sonyakhov herself and life in general are not my own, i want to make it clear, some Modern AUs, technically romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-10
Updated: 2017-10-22
Packaged: 2019-01-15 19:13:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12327114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amitye/pseuds/amitye
Summary: A very unoriginal collection of flashfics about whatever I feel like writing.1) Songstress (Hélène\Natasha) - "That's no way to sing" this wonder of a girl muttered under her breath in front of Hélène's old and weary eyes, with a nineteen year old confidence more effortless than that Hélène had practiced her whole life, and she was dying inside to ask her to show what she knew about singing2) C'est le jour (Romeo and Juliet AU, Sonya!centric with slight Sonyamary, ambiguous Sonya\Natasha and I guess Sonyakhov as they do have a sexually charged swordfight) - She had noticed nothing because she had been swept up in a dance with that lovely girl when she should have been checking on Natasha and her new betrothed, like her aunt had bid her, and it had gone so far because when she had seen a trio clad in Kuragin green enter the hall and started fuming the princess Marya had looked at her with a tender espression nobody had given her in a long while and said "Brave Sophie, I don't pretend to be sure my laws are just, but I do believe that it's not our God's will for so many young people to be consumed by hatred for a senseless feud"





	1. Songstress

Pierre tells her Natasha doesn't sing anymore.

She wishes Pierre was as bitter as he used to be, so she could will herself to believe he tells her just to make her feel guilty - _wherever you are there's depravity and evil - your love gets people shot and poisoned and ruined and banished, isn't it time you stop, isn't it time you live up to that ice queen face and keep that cursed ruin of an heart to yourself?_

But he says it with no bitterness, almost distracted, by mistake - he is no longer bitter now, softened ad uplifted and no longer willing to start a fight, which leaves Hélène frustrated and without an excuse to lash out and make him pay for taking her brother away - and so she has no doubt it must be true.

Anatole's not here, God knows when he'll be again, and even if her love hurts and ruins she is still a decent enough person not to go to Fedya sobbing over another girl, so she deals in the dark of her room, closing her eyes in a dead silence that begs to be filled with music and is filled with memories instead, of that day when, against Hélène's better judgement, it seemed nothing distressing and ugly could happen when such a sweet little charmer was involved.

Hélène was not very fond of the opera - she loved the scenery and the costumes and the lights and the way emotions ran higher than normal, but the music was nothing short of a bore - but she had clapped all the same, smiling serenely and looking at the reactions of everyone around her, even thought at this point she no longer needed to imitate anyone to understand how to act.

Her dear little Borya had clapped without enthusiasm, with a superior smirk at the excitement of his new bride; Count Rostov laughed in his undignified way and yelled comments at Marya Dmitryevna and Sofia - virtuous, angelic, _incomparable_ Sophie, infinitely better than Hélène and pure enough to make a man dream of redemption but, it seemed, not enough to achieve it - was smiling vacantly and clearly thinking of something else.

But Natasha was the closest to her and her face was a work of art in every little detail - her nose scrunched up like a baby's, her hands picking angrily at the boquet like she had forgotten she was in a public place, and in her eyes, a genuinely indignant look like the opera had personally offended her and everything that mattered to her.

It was the funniest, most open, unguarded face Hélène a had ever seen; not only,it was the first she had seen in years and she wanted to trace her fingertip on her soft, flushed, cheek and pull her lips in a smile and ask her to share whatever doubtlessly delightful thing was on her mind right now.

"That's no way to sing" this wonder of a girl muttered under her breath in front of Hélène's old and weary eyes, with a nineteen year old confidence more effortless than that Hélène had practiced her whole life and she was dying inside to ask her to show what she knew about singing, but she didn't want to make this free, bold girl have to realize she had something inappropriate and fake-titter and apologize.

She had never known how to deal with that hot - blooded passion, that brimming, barely contained spontaneity - she let Anatole deal with it instead because since they were children he did what she couldn't and she did what he couldn't, and it felt so right and natural, how love's supposed to be, she didn't even notice how all that effortless confidence drained from Natasha's face as the two spoke.

But now... now she wishes she had asked. She wishes she had gotten that last sip of childish joy she had tried to preserve - _make the girl know love, adventure, save her from the chains of marriage, I'd have killed for a pretty older woman to do that for me, that's what's best for her, isn't it_? - and ended up destroying instead. She wishes she knew what she has ruined. 


	2. C'est le jour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fruit of my recent whirlwind romance with European musicals: aka an extremely OOC self indulgent thing probably no one else will like but bear with me, I'll go back to things that make sense soon. Inspired by several different adaptation but mostly Sonya is modeled on the Hungarian Tybalt and Dolokhov (and the Kuragins\Montagues) on the Italian Mercutio. Sonya is kinda messed up and probably the most OOC but I feel this is how she would have turned out if she was raised in the middle of a feud, given she's so protective of her family and wants to be good and loved and mostly does what she's told? Idk man there is Mary as prince Escalus here do you really expect this to make sense. Warnings for blood, swordfighting, swearing (including some stuff that could be considered sexist I guess), implied sexual situations and major character death (HOW FUCKIN HARD is it to write people dying? Hard as fuck. People reacting to people dying is even worse) Also you could say there's a bit of Sonya\Natasha because I persist on my headcanon that there is no Nikolay in the Great Comet universe, but it's mostly an one sided childhood obsession on Sonya's part and nothing romantic.

"How was it I noticed nothing? How could it go so far?"  
_Nevermind_ , she corrected herself, looking at the princess curled in her bed, so soft and pretty with her thin brown hair loosened and the cross of her pilgrim costume between her little breasts.  
She had noticed nothing because she had been swept up in a dance with that lovely girl when she should have been checking on Natasha and her new betrothed, like her aunt had bid her, and it had gone so far because when she had seen a trio clad in Kuragin green enter the hall and started fuming the princess Marya had looked at her with a tender espression nobody had given her in a long while and said "Brave Sophie, I don't pretend to be sure my laws are just, but I do believe that it's not our God's will for so many young people to be consumed by hatred for a senseless feud" and her voice had been so humble and sweet that Sonya had believed everything and hardly looked at Natasha again.  
_Foolish, childish._ Lovers were for kisses and the warmth of the bed but nothing beyond that could mean anything to a Rostov, a Rostov only listens to the voice of vengeance and an orphaned Rostov especially so, hadn't her papa told her the last time he had held her hand before he died?  
_No girl's words can matter to me, only Natasha, only Natasha_. She forced a smile and looked at the terrified little maid that had come to give her the news. "Nevermind, thank you for telling me. I understand they have married but have yet to run, is that so?"  
"Yes, m'lady" the girl stuttered, showing despite her station more concern for the family's honor than Natasha ever would, she thought with a twinge of guilt at her own bitterness. "He danced with her at the ball and came courting her, at her own balcony! And then they were married in secret by some friar."  
"Good Lord. And we're sure it was Lord Kuragin's heir himself? Not the girl or one of the mercenaries?"  
"A slender blonde boy who can afford to dress head to toe in emerald, my lady."  
Sonya nodded and rubbed her temples. She didn't know what to think. She dreaded that it may be necessary to make Natasha a widow and, while it would be easier to make someone more lowborn disappear, she couldn't help but think it would be much more pleasant to get rid of the prancing idiot than of some poor soul whose only fault was to have to sell their sword to survive. _This, if Natasha is not ruined yet. If she is, I'd be pleased to kill anyone._  
"All right. I'll go immediately and settle this." She almost begged her not to tell her uncle and aunt of her failure, but she understood the situation didn't allow for her pride to be spared. "Warn my uncle to keep Natasha under lock and key, and as soon as morning comes take someone to escort the princess Marya home. Tell her... I will write to her."  
Left alone, Sonya almost burst into tears, but she was stronger than that. She picked up her basin and washed off the smudged remains of her mask with tense, scratching fingers. She took off her cat ears and snapped the headband, with a twinge of regret remembering it was Natasha that had woven it in her hair.  
_Foolish, childish._ Her aunt and uncle hadn't taken her in so she could dance and drink and get dressed up. Those were childhood treasures meant for Natasha, for the poor princess Marya who took so little avantage of them, for the pretty Kuragin girl, treasures burnt and stolen the day a wretched Kuragin's sword had taken her parents away from her. She had no room for error when the family's honor depended on her being good.  
She wrapped up her hair, slid chainmail over her white tunic and clasped a sword at her waist. She looked like a Rostov all in white, unmistakable and unsubtle, but she didn't change. She had little hope for the situation to be handled subtly anyway and with her flaming hair she was, even when she was just a poor orphaned niece, a companion, an houseguard, immediately recognizable as a Rostov, or at least so she hoped. It was the only name she'd ever have. She kissed, despite knowing better, goodbye to princess Marya - who had probably drunk that evening for the very first time in her life since she was still sleeping like a baby despite all that rustling of chainmail - and left in the dark night for the inn she knew. The music was still loud despite the hour, and she couldn't distinguished the voices of any of the guests. But as soon as she entered, she recognized two familiar sounds of laughter. She sat at the bar calmly, letting the two take her presence in. It didn't take long.

"Fedyushka" whispered a warm, slightly hoarse feminine voice "we... we must go, there's a Rostov here, she's staring"  
The young man replied at that with a careless laughter that made Sonya's lips twist bitterly. "Lelya, darling, I hadn't taken you for one of those brave companions that, when they come into the inn, put their weapon on the table and meow 'Oh, dear sweet Jesus, make it so I don't have to use it!'" he said, mocking a woman's voice without realizing, Sonya couldn't help to chuckle at thought, it was barely more high pitched than his natural tone.  
"Must we look for trouble? We are having such a good time."  
"Trouble's how scoundrels like us amuse themselves, darling, and I take you out for you to amuse yourself. If you're so frightened of swords I can always take you back home to knit for your dear husband."  
"Ah, don't you dare!" The Kuragin girl twisted in the mercenary's lap so she could face him and kissed him hard, and Sonya decided it was time to show up.  
"Hello. Lady Kuragina" she purposefully hesitated on how to address Fyodor Dolokhov, staring straight in his proud, insolent eyes, and decided to ignore his presence altogether "it's a pleasure to see you here, since I'm looking for your sweet brother and I'm sure he won't be far from you."  
The lady bit her lip and hesitated for a moment at that, but the mercenary took up the challenge with laughter in his eyes.  
"Ah, that's good to see you! The Rostovs' pretty ginger cat."  
Dolokhov was not tall compared to most, but on Sonya he still towered. Still, this was not the first time they faced one  
another and she smiled sweetly at him. "The Kuragins' rabid watchdog. Be a good boy, tell me: where's your little master?"  
"Anatole? Oh, my princess of cats, life is too short and dueling too dangerous, with that church mouse of a princess's new  
prohibition, to waste it on someone unworthy of you. Come have a dance with a sword at your level, will you?"  
Sonya pushed him away. "No wonder you Kuragins lose every battle if that's loyaly for you. Is this how you speak of a friend?"  
"A friend I adore; but still I'm honest. I wish you'd do the same and admit that your precious Natalie is a bit loose and wanted some fun instead of blaming everything on the poor boy."  
"How dare you!" Sonya drew her sword, uncaring of the terrified glances of the customers - she knew no commoner would dare to tell anything to the princess. Fedya Dolokhov flinched away, but she still scratched his cheek and smiled satisfied at his angry espression as the blood trickled on the collar of his jacket. She knew it was the only item of Kuragin green - the ugliest, gaudiest and yet most expensive dye on the market - he could afford.  
"Kitten, I don't know what to say. I must admit I didn't expect to fight today, but if you so wish..."  
"You always expect to fight, where you go there's chaos and violence." Sonya growled, crossing her sword with his. They were still for a moment, studying each other: Sonya's heart beat so fast and she was so focused than when lady Kuragina cried out the both jumped back and fumbled with theirs swords like children on the practice yard. Hélène took avantage of that and pushed her lover back, driving them apart. "Sir, my lady!" she cried, fidgeting with her pearls. "The princess has forbidden fighting! We are in a public place, a refined establishment!"  
"A dirty den of sin." Sonya snorted, sending a mental apology to her own cousins and servants that went there to drink and whore no less than the Kuragins. The lady Hélène, predictably, didn't seem very moved by accusations to her own morality.  
"So I say, either we settle this with words or we go somewhere else. Fedya, dearest, I have lost my hopes with you but maybe... Sonya, is that right? Sonyushka of the Rostovs" she said, the way one could day "Fedya of the Kuragins", like she was some household guard and not the lord's own niece, and she placed her dark, warm hand on Sonya's hip "my dear, there is music here, and wine, pretty girls and pretty boys. Surely even a good, serious girl like you must see it's more pleasant than a cold dark cell or a cold dark grave."  
Sonya took a deep breath, taking in Hélène's round breasts so exposed and so close to her own, her flowery perfume, the sweetness of her voice. _No pretty girls, only Natasha, only vengeance, only Natasha._ She put her hands on her shoulders, pushing her the whole lenght of her arms away.  
"Is that what your brother told my cousin to steal her away from her own balcony, lady Kuragina? That she'd find his debauchery pleasant?" She thought she saw a knowing smirk on the lady's face, she wasn't sure, but she couldn't stop. "You know, don't you? You know every depravity your scoundrel brother gets up too, and you don't cry for the scandal to stop, then! Only when swords are out you play the little lamb and want your way out of trouble?"  
Lady Kuragina's face was twisted now, fear plain in her eyes. Dolokhov had drawn his sword again. _Good. Be frightened of me and maybe we'll solve this without more bloodshed than necessary._  
"I won't raise my sword on a girl who has never fought. A Rostov knows what honor is, though a Kuragin may see fit to stab a woman with child together with her husband" she took a deep breath. That wasn't the time or place. She turned to Dolokhov, now walking toward her. "What have I told you, Dolokhov? Put your sword away, I have no time to waste with the runt of the streets. Where is Anatole?"  
Dolokhov's smile turned bitter. "Anatole will not waste his time with you little mouse-catcher, either, and you'll have to settle with me. I admit he has the prettier face, but my sword is longer and nimbler - where are you going? You promised me a duel, and a duel you'll give me, or I'll come take it myself."  
Sonya smiled and took a step back, caressing the hilt of her sword. "I'll duel you tomorrow, and the day after and as long as your house keeps sprouting I'll duel a wretched Kuragin every day of my life: that's what's in my dreams since I was a little girl. But today-" she jumped back as he swung at her, drew her blade and crossed it to his, pushing forward to make up for his superior strenght "Not today! It's all a game to you, I've fought you, I know you. You come with your sword out, drunk and dancing like some stupid jester looking for the first fool who wants to play too. But it's not a game to me, I came for my cousin and-"  
"FEDYA!" Dolokhov was startled at that - Sonya stumbled and dropped her sword and she realized he had kicked her legs from under her. She turned where he was staring, and out of the door to the bedrooms above the inn came Anatole Kuragin, looking at his friend wide eyed with displeasure. His hair were undone and his green shirt unbuttoned and at his neck - Sonya shook her head, pushing back the memories of a girl who had played wedding with her cousin and exchaged heart shaped necklaces with her in lieu of rings. She had dreamed then, and now she knew she wasn't going to earn the name of daughter with a white veil and a crown of orange blossom, but maybe she could still manage that with her sword. It could be her chance. That gave her back her voice.

"Kuragin! " She yelled, and the boy recoiled like a child caught misbehaving. "Where are you running? Come here, come here, explain me what have you been up to, the night is young and I'm not busy." A new, terrible doubt seized her and destroyed her attempts to keep a calm, sardonic voice. "And what were you doing upstairs? Fucking some other girl - how many hours since my cousin gave you her -"  
Heart she almost said, but what if it wasn't just that? What if she was ruined, what if Sonya had failed? Every hope to express herself coherently deserted her and she lunged at Kuragin, grabbing Natasha's necklace to pull him closer. "No, no" the boy protested, frantically. "I was only saying goodbye to Matrena and Steshka, but with Natalie I've done everything right, we married, I'm an honest man for once-"  
"A vulture's what you are!" Sonya yanked the chain, Kuragin cried and choked and the locket came off - chain damaged, but the core whole, it could be remade, everything could be fixed yet -"A vulture praying on a young girl's weakness, but you'll pay for this, you scoundrels are finished ruining my family-"  
Her words were cut off in a snarl as something ripped her away from the terrified Kuragin boy and threw her to the ground.  
Her legs ached from the impact and shivered from being suddenly exposed, her tunic ripped away, but she dragged herself on her feet all the same and unsheated her sword. It was a clumsy, hasty blow but she managed to deflect the blade all the same.  
"This is no business of yours, Dolokhov, leave us." She tried again with little hope and was met only with laughter.  
"I'm sorry, Rostova, you may be be the princess of cats, but you don't rule all of Moscow yet. You don't get to tell me what's my business and what isn't, no more than you get to say who can look at your precious cousin and who can't." She swung her sword mostly to stop him talking, but he crossed his to hers, blocking them in a stall. For a moment he studied her, then he placed his hand on her cheek. "Seriously, Sonyushka. I thought you of all people would not ask me to abandon a friend."  
They had fought many times before, and always he laughed or smiled a winning, satisfied smile that made her blood boil, but this time he was serious and his handsome dark face looked very young and soft and close to hers. _So many young people consumed by hatred._ Sonya thought of princess Marya for a moment, and felt very tired, very inclined to drop her sword and kiss someone and let this business with Natasha settle itself. _She's always forgiven for every foolish thing she does, anyway._

She shook her head - that was not her. It was foolish to even think she could shrug off her duty like that when Natasha's honor and happiness were even slightly at risk - no more than Dolokhov could risk leaving the Kuragin boy to fend for himself and go do something he liked better. She yelled again, half heartedly, and lunged at Dolokhov - almost struck him this time, and growled when she failed. His mouth twisted as he dodged the blow and in a split second it was the face of an assassin again, icy and bitter.  
"You are pretty invested in seeing my blood run, kitten, for one who claims she came for her cousin and nothing more."       
Sonya laughed, breathless. Was this what he thought of her, a bloodthirsty scoundrel like he was? Had she deserved it, for pushing him away?  
"For my cousin and to slash your insolent mouth in two." she corrected him, and resumed the dance.  
"Insolent, you say? I'll show you how much worse I can get-"  
"You are both mad! Is life nothing to you?" The Kuragin girl's anguished scream cut her words in half and Dolokhov jumped back, using the split second it granted him to wink at Hélène and say "It's child's play". He turned back to Sonya, but in that time Anatole rushed between them and took his friend's face between his hands. "Fedya, is this a way to ruin my wedding night, fighting the bride's family like this?"  
Dolokhov swore and tried to weasel around the boy, but he stood between them with a childish stubborness, pushing them apart with surprisingly nimble hands. A smile spread on Sonya's face - did he thought this was not what she wanted? - as she fought him off and thrust her sword through the squirming Kuragin's side. She felt the familiar feeling of the flesh's resistence on her blade, a warm wetness of blood on her hand and she took her sword out, daring for a moment to believe everything was finished, Natasha a widow and free from this scandal, her pride restored. But when she looked, Anatole's shirt was bloody but the skin under the tearing untouched, and Dolokhov pressed his hands on his chest and slumped against the wall, swearing softly. No, no, no. Sonya blinked and rubbed her eyes but he was still in front of her, blood soaking his stupid emerald jacket - how could she had been so clumsy? Someone wrenched the Kuragin boy's hand away from hers, violently, making her sway and stumble.  
"Stop staring, you fool, let's take him home." The Kuragin girl hissed and pushed her brother towards Dolokhov, but he waved them off. "No, not home. My mother - my angel, she won't bear it."  
"What she won't bear? It can't be that bad, show me." Hélène scoffed and forced his hand away from the wound. Sonya hoped for a second, but she saw the Kuragin girl's shoulders go stiff and shivered. Dolokhov raised his eyes, looked at her, frozen and stiff and with the guilty look she must have on her face, and laughed, a forced bitter sound that spiraled into histerics as he swayed and leaned on Hélène.  
"No, Lelya darling, what cheap sort of assassin do you think I am? Just a little kitten scratch." He said, and fell over.  
_I'll give you a duel tomorrow and a duel the day after_ , Sonya remembered and choked a sob, _a duel every day of our lives, to get better and feel alive and prove all of Moscow we deserve the place we have here, I wasn't lying, I would have given it to you!_ She covered her face and screamed into the palm of her hand and Dolokhov kept laughing, hoarser and weaker until he stopped. "I knew I was going to die fighting, but this is ridiculous. A - a bloody plague on you fools and your house and you - Rostova, kitten, look at me, on yours too!" Sonya looked despite herself and saw him struggle to sit up, pushing the two Kuragins away. "There are wars going on out there and my mother will have to say her brave soldier boy died for Natalie Rostova's cunt. A plague on both of your houses!"  
His bleary eyes ran over Hélène and Anatole and the ghost of a smile lurked at the corner of his mouth. "You reckless spoiled children, kings of the world this and kings of the world that. I'd like to see how you carry on like this without me to drag you out of trouble."  
"We won't need to know" Anatole begun, but Dolokhov grabbed his collar and dragged him down, silencing him with a kiss. Sonya knew deep in her soul she had no right to witness this and turned around, not even particularly caring that she was giving her back to her enemy. She clutched her hand around the hilt of her sword and then Anatole sobbed and his sister cried out so loud Sonya's head rung and she fell on her knees.  
"Sofia! Sofia!" An angry male voice called out to her, but she didn't reply, didn't open her eyes and didn't correct that cold and solemn name. Who was left who loved her enough to call her Sonya anyway? Not her aunt and uncle after she had repaid their charity with failure, not Natasha after she had let her innocence be violated and name torn apart, not the princess Marya after she had broken the peace she had worked so hard for. And Fedya would not call her not only Sonya, but not even Sophie or Sonyushka or kitten ever again, never wink at her when he led the Kuragin swords and she led the Rostovs, in a mute aknowledgement that despite their differences they were here to do the same dirty work, unimportant and unthanked but ever loyal. Never insult every bone in her body and every name in her family cript to goad her into a fight, only to then spend the rest of the night complimenting her fierce eyes and pretty freckles and good angelic heart. Never again take her drinking when she defeated him, claiming she was in dire need of loosening up, and never again ask as his victory prize, when she was the one defeated, only a ribbon from her hair to give his little sister still too young to care if she wore Rostov white or Kuragin green.  
"Sofia" the Kuragin boy yelled as he pressed the dagger to her throat and Sonya would have liked to fight back, but she was a good girl who knew her place and her use, and knew she had no right to.


End file.
